


Surprises of a Wedding Night

by Ludovica



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (but it does sort of work out still), F/M, Sounding, Tentacles, Xeno, alternative genitalia, not quite compatible genitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 02:31:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ludovica/pseuds/Ludovica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elves and Men do not share the same anatomy. Aragorn knew about the strange build of Elven men before - but in his wedding night he finds out about the secrets of Elven maidens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surprises of a Wedding Night

**Author's Note:**

> Basically the result of [this ](http://nolikereally.tumblr.com/post/50607773092/frillyfacefins-said-one-of-the-things-that-annoys)
> 
> Please do not take this too seriously, it's more or less senseless what-if-smut :X

In her gown of linden green she had been beautiful like a spring morning, yet now that he had unlaced it and gently taken it off her body, she appeared like summer nights incarnate before him, the gentle slopes of her body, maidenly yet, only veiled by the thin, white silk of her underdress. She sat back on the bed before him, her grey eyes gazing at him like the stars of legends, rivaling the shimmer of her white headdress. He had taken off his coat and ceremonial armor, his boots as well as his crown, and was standing before her in his breeches and tunic only.

There was a smile on her lips that reminded him of glowing eyes and low rumbling in the darkness, of the chirping of cicadas and full harvest moons, and her hands took hold of the hem of his tunic, pulling him closer to her until he knelt down on the bed to lean forward and breathe a kiss on the soft lips of the woman who had enchanted him beyond human understanding. She hummed against his lips, and gently returned the pressure, though just seconds later she withdrew.

Her hand ran through his hair, his beard, down over the nape of his neck and under the collar of his tunic, nails gently scraping over his shoulder blades and down his spine while her other hand found the hem again. The hand on his back vanished, and he lifted his arms when she pulled the tunic over his head.

The piece of clothing was discarded on the floor, to be forgotten until morning or longer even, while his bride’s – his Queen’s – eyes roamed over his upper body. Gentle hands ran through the coarse locks of his chest, over old and new scars, over hard muscle and weatherworn skin, and a warmth filled his body that was different from mere passion, from the heat of the impending joining of bodies; her hands, small and delicate as they might be, dispelled every memory of cold, every night spent on hard forest grounds, every day battling the icy winds of winter, every bath in mountain brooks during early spring that had left his flesh raw and his mind numb. But as he felt the tips of his fingers on his skin, he felt as if summer had come at last, a summer that would never end as long as she was with him, and his body vibrated with the smell of flowers and the song of birds.

Then she kissed him, and he was in his nuptial bed again, and he felt her smile against his lips as he ran his hands over her shoulders and arms. She was cool to his touch, like she always had been, despite the warmth that her fingers sent through his body. She sighed into the kiss, and he opened his mouth to gently push his teeth against her lower lip, licking over it as he felt her mouth closing around his upper lip, her hands running over his sides, gentle and soothing as he slowly undid the lacing of her chemise.

His breath hitched in his chest when the silk slipped down over her body, revealing her naked shoulders first, then her slender arms, the plain of her décolleté, and finally small, perfectly round breasts, before it pooled around the slope of her hips, just so much as hiding her navel from his view.

With a low sigh, a release of breath that made him feel as if he was letting go of his old life, his life without her, just to breathe the very essence of her beauty, her grace, her spirit with his next gasp, he leaned down to kiss the juncture between her neck and her shoulder. He could feel her shiver for a second, but then her hand was in the nape of his neck, and slowly she guided him down, over her collarbones and ribs, until his lips finally found the soft teat at the tip of her breast, small as an elderberry with a court of incredibly soft skin around it that slowly started to ripple and harden into tiny nibs as he licked over the bud in its center.

A moan filled the air around him when he put his teeth to work, just ever so gently, hardly touching her. The gentle warmth she had spread in his body started to turn into heat, slowly, steadily, pooling in his loins and rousing his appetite to something that would require more than kisses to be sated.

Strange anticipation filled his chest when his hands ran over her sides to the fabric of her underdress. He abandoned her breast with a last little kiss to its side, then he sat back on his knees and kissed her lips once more. She was still wearing the headdress, and the reflection of the white moonlight shining through the high arches of their bedroom turned her into even more of a goddess in his eyes than she had ever been.

“Would you lie back for me, my Queen?” he whispered against her lips. She smiled again, and he relished in being able to feel her smile, with closed eyes even, and once more she stroked his bearded cheek before her warmth vanished from him. He opened his eyes to see her leaning back into soft blankets, supporting her body with her arms behind her back instead of really lying down. He smiled at the curious look she was giving him – did she know about…? She had to know, maybe not in detail, but… Elrond surely would have told her, before their wedding.

Yet he could not say that he was entirely sure what was going to happen either. His hands found the folds of her dress again, and slowly he pulled it down, half-dreading, half-anticipating what he would find between her white, soft thighs. Growing up among Elves, he had seen the form of naked Elven men often enough, in baths or in the wilderness when they had washed the blood of their prey off their bodies after long hunts. He knew that Elven men, well, ‘lacked’ certain features that the males of Men had, or rather, that their sexual organs differed so greatly that there might seem to be no resemblance at all. And he was sure that the women of the Eldar would differ similarly from the build of the women of Men. There had been the one or other girl in his youth, in towns and farmsteads he had passed during his early years as a ranger, before he had even laid eyes upon Arwen, and as a healer he had helped several children of Men into this world, but it had always been women of his own race, and never had he… Never had he even dared to dwell on…

Arwen’s hand found his, and he noticed that he had paused in disrobing her. He looked up, and she smiled at him, gentle and patient. “Do not worry…” she whispered. “If it worked for Lúthien and Beren, and Idril and Tuor, we cannot be incompatible. Even if we might look strange to each other…” Faint pinkness had found its way into her cheeks, though he could not tell if it was similar heat as was boiling in his own loins, or the blush of shame, though he could not imagine that she would be ashamed now, not after all the time they had waited. There was nothing she could feel shame for.

Her hands led his own when he finally pulled her dress down and from her legs, not daring to look at her until he had dropped the underdress on the floor next to his tunic. Only then did he open his eyes again and looked at her.

The first thing he noticed was that there was no hair between her legs – or on her legs, for that matter. He had not even noticed it before, but apart from the hair on her head, her eyebrows and lashes, she was hairless as a babe. Yet he did not ponder on this thought when he caught sight of the upper end of a little pink slit. He leaned forward and kissed her hip, anxiety filling his body as he gently laid hand on her right thigh.

She opened her legs before he could even utter a word, or push her thighs apart. When he looked up at her, she smiled. “Do look.” Her voice was a purr, hardly audible. “I am yours and you are mine, and it would be a pity if nervousness kept us from knowing each other…”

He smiled at that and kissed her hipbone again. “I love you in ways I could never describe, not with words in all the languages of Arda.”

Her hand ran over his neck again, and she leaned forward to pull him up and kiss his brow. She did not need to profess her love to him with anything more than a smile – she had given her immortality for him, what else could he want for proof? And even if he would stare at her, he knew that she would not hold it against him.

He sat up again, and straddled one of her legs while he gently stroked the outside of her thigh. Then he finally allowed himself to gaze at the one part of her body that had been most arduously hidden from his view up to this moment.

It was a pink slit only of sorts, and the outer parts seemed to be quite similar to the outer parts of a human woman’s sex; yet it seemed tighter, not opening with the spreading of her legs. The lips of the slit were tightly shut at the lower end, and only slightly flared at the upper end, where a few pink, bud-like spheres were protruding. They seemed to be moving, ever so slightly…

“If you touch them…” Arwen said, though she trailed off, and the pink in her cheeks turned darker when he looked up to her. “Just… Touch them, not directly, just the area around them…”

He frowned for a second, but then heeded her command and ran the tip of one finger over one of the flared lips of the slit. One of the buds opened, and his eyes widened in astonishment when a thin, prehensile appendage started to wiggle over the lip, touching his finger tentatively before it coiled around it, like the tendril of some climbing plant.

Arwen moaned again, lowly, and one of her hands found its way between her legs. Aragorn watched enrapt as her slender fingers started to just faintly touch the little buds, and as more of the thin tendrils were released from their coiled-up form. She seemed to play with the little twines, a game he did not understand, not yet, in which her fingers withdrew again and again just to come back down, tease the tips of the wiggling things which tried to coil around them, and then to withdraw once more. Only the tendril that was still coiled around his finger was not tempted towards hers, though it had started to twitch a little – until it finally withdrew, and the rest of the tendrils as well, now each about two inches in length. He watched as they started to entwine with each other, twitching and bending, as if they were dancing in an alien sort of way. He could hear how Arwen’s breath became labored, and then he saw it – a smaller slit opening up between the roots of the pink tendrils, and a slender tentacle of a darker pink, nearly wine red color protruding from this slit. It was only slightly thicker than the tendrils around it, but it thickened a little at the base the longer it grew, and it seemed to ooze some sort of thick liquid. When it stopped to protrude, he saw that the tip was faintly leaf-shaped…

His hand was still between her legs, and the slick tentacle quickly found his fingers – but instead of just coiling around it, it poked its head against his skin, then slid over his fingers and hand, poking again and leaving traces of lubricious fluid, until Arwen’s fingers coiled around it and pulled it away. When he looked up at her face again, he saw a faint smile on her lips, and a feverish gleam in her eyes.

She sat up now, folding one of her legs under her body. Her hand was still holding the wiggling tentacle, and her eyes rolled back into her head for a second when another low moan escaped her reddened lips.

She sat like this for a few moments, her eyes closed and her body slightly hunched forward, until the wriggling of the appendage had decreased. Then she finally looked up at him, a curious sparkle in her eyes.

“Now that you’ve seen me…” she said, and grinned in a nearly mischievous way that made a hot shiver run over Aragorn’s back, “I want to see you too…”

With nimble fingers she started to undo the lacings of his breeches. He shivered at the mere touch; his prick was already hard enough to hurt in its tight leather restraint. When she pulled his breeches down, it immediately sprung up to his abdomen, and he sighed lowly in relief – though that relief vanished when he saw how she was looking at him, with raised eyebrows and bewilderment on her face.

Now heat was rising to his head – and suddenly he wondered what she was thinking, if she was disgusted, or frightened, or – 

She took his prick into the hand that was not still occupied between he own legs, and ran her fingers over the hot skin, her brow creasing slightly. “This is really… different…” she said, though there was no disgust in her voice – more a kind of wary curiosity. Again her hand ran over the length of his cock, and he couldn’t help but groan lowly. She looked up at him, and again he saw a spark in her eyes and that grin tug at the corners of her mouth.

“Let’s see how this works…” she muttered, though more to herself than to him. Her dark hair fell over her shoulder, and her headdress sparkled as she leaned forward and let her fingers glide over his prick, slowly, deliberately, as if she was looking for something. It didn’t help the heat in Aragorn’s loins at all, and soon his own breath was heavy and fast. When she wrapped her hands around the tip and pulled his foreskin back, he groaned once again, closing his eyes while he enjoyed the feeling of her soft hand wrapped around his hard flesh – though he immediately opened his eyes again when he felt one of her fingers press against the little opening at the tip of his prick.

She withdrew her hand and looked at the fluid on her fingers for a moment, then she smiled up to him again. “I think I found out how this is going to work.”

His lust-addled mind didn’t quite comprehend what she was saying at first, but when she went on her knees and inched closer to him, embracing him as the small tendrils started to rub over the skin of his cock, he suddenly understood.

He frowned slightly at the very thought of what she was likely trying to do, though the frown turned into another gasp when he felt the tip of the tentacle pushing against the opening.

Gently he grasped her shoulders and pushed her just far enough away to be able to look into her face. “Are you sure about this…?” he asked. “There is not exactly… a lot of space in there.”

She raised her eyebrows at that, but then nodded. “That is where your seed flows from, is it not?” She said it without any of the blush that had colored her cheeks before – yet Aragorn felt his face warm faintly. It was strange to hear words so blunt from a mouth so lovely.

“It is…” he said, and she nodded slightly.

“Then it will work, don’t worry.” She smiled again, and gently kissed his lips. “It’s flexible…”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “I’ll take your word on that, my love,” he whispered against her lips, though he was still not sure how to feel about this. The mere thought of having anything inside of his prick was… more than strange. But on the other hand, it was right what she had said before – it had worked for Lúthien and Beren, and for Idril and Tuor, so it would work for them as well.

And he had waited too long to be one with her to now be picky about the particulars of their joining.

She laid her brow against his chest, and he kissed her dark hair before he closed his eyes again. Arwen straddled his lap, sitting down on his thighs so that the small pink tendrils could easily wrap themselves around his prick. They were surprisingly strong – even though they were so fragile-looking they made a shiver run up his spine and coaxed another moan from him. Arwen kissed his collarbone and pulled his foreskin back again, then he felt pressure at the opening – he could keep himself from twitching, but he still let out a breathless gasp when he felt the tip of the wiggling appendage pushing into him.

It was a strange feeling – not unpleasant, but not quite pleasant either yet. It did not hurt at all, and he was glad about that – but even though it was hardly half as thick as Arwen’s little finger (if that), it seemed to fill him to an unnatural degree.

The tentacle slid in easily, slicked by both its own lubricant and his precum, and soon he felt Arwen’s hot breath against his chest. She kissed her way up over his collarbone and to his neck. “If it is too unpleasant for you, you must tell me…” she whispered, and the tone of her voice was so hoarse and lust-tinged that it just increased the heat burning between his legs. He groaned lowly when he felt how the skin that the little tendrils touched started to pulsate, in a way that was beyond pleasant, a way that made him roll his eyes back into his head with another moan.

Her arms wrapped around his back now, and he could feel the hard tips of her breasts press against his chest. With a sigh he kissed her cheek, her brow, her lips. His thoughts were distant, obscured by a thick fog of lust and desire that seemed to fill his whole body by now. When some of the tendrils seemed to slip into the folds of his foreskin and the tentacle pushed farther in, he moaned into Arwen’s hair, and he relished in the raptured noises escaping her lips as their bodies shuddered against each other. Without even noticing it he started to slowly move his hips, swaying them against her and back again, just an inch of movement but enough to make the tendrils of her sex grip his cock even tighter, and the tentacle to push even deeper – and finally his lust came to a boil, and with a breathless moan he came.

Together with his orgasm he heard a cry from Arwen, and the tentacle immediately withdrew from his prick. As soon as he had regained some semblance a clear mind he looked down between them, his head against Arwen’s shoulder, his breath still ragged – the leaf-like tip of the tentacle was glistening with his seed, and so did most of the tendrils. He watched the tentacle withdraw, slowly, while the tendrils rubbed against it, wiping off the liquid sticking to them on the thicker and longer appendage.

Arwen collapsed in his arms as soon as the tentacle had vanished in its little hole again, and her tendrils slowly started to coil up. He kissed her brow and her cheek, and listened to her heavy breathing for a moment, while he waited for his own breathing to steady – then he gently pulled her with him, down onto the bed, so that they finally lay there, King and Queen, in each other’s arms, and their breathes mingling between them.


End file.
